Broken Dolls
by socially-awkward-butterfly
Summary: Laetitia swears James is the best thing to have happened in our lives; even Laetitia does not believe that. Beneath a mask of optimism and layers of crap fed directly to us by him, she knows just as well as I do that his presence is a curse. - An AU in which Sherlock has a sister, Mycroft is 'dead', and the Holmes siblings are in the care of Jim Moriarty. Mentions abuse and rape.
1. James' Broken Little Doll

So this just sort of...happened. Not quite sure where it's going. This is an AU (teen!lock) where Sherlock has a sister named Laetitia (leh-tish-uh) and they both ended up in the care of James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. Sherlock's POV, hope I got it down right. Also, there are mentions of rape in here, but there will never be anything graphic, and mentions of children/teens getting abused, which may be semi-graphic in later chapters. Sherlock is 18 and Laetitia 16. Please leave a review, even if you absolutely hated it!

I wasn't quite sure exactly how this had all started. I liked to think it was when Mycroft had died, leaving me in an orphanage, and when James Moriarty came in, looking for an heir, and found a toddler reading a physics textbook. Perhaps it was when he started visiting me weekly.

Laetitia likes to take the narrower view of things. She thinks it all started when he and Sebastian signed the papers.

If you'd like to take the broader view of things, it started when I accidentally left the Bunsen burner on while I was at school and Mycroft didn't notice, causing our house to go up in flames, my unfortunate older brother still in it. That was also the day I stopped going by William and Laetitia stopped going by Hannah, but that's a different story for a different day.

Laetitia swears James is the best thing to have happened in our lives; even Laetitia does not believe that. Beneath a mask of optimism and layers of crap fed directly to us by him, she knows just as well as I do that his presence is a curse.

For God's sakes, he _raped_ Laetitia when she was six, and then when she was eight, and then twice when she was nine. As she grew older, I learned to stop counting, though I believe it's somewhere in the double digits by now. Forties, maybe, sometimes twice in one day. But she always comes out of his bedroom wrapped in his damned coat, tears staining her cheeks with a weak smile on her face. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling, with that broken smile, but it doesn't work.

Laetitia has come to resemble a broken doll over the years. I cannot help but compare my poor sister to a broken doll. She wears short, frilly dresses and schoolgirl shoes (though we were not allowed to attend school ever since the time Laetitia accidentally let it slip about how her 'Daddy' touches her when she was six), and the makeup she's forced to wear is ridiculous. Every morning she takes an hour to coat her already pale face in white makeup to make her look porcelain, her already long lashes in mascara to look like the pretty dolls James likes, to curl her already curly hair perfectly even though it'll just get tucked under a bonnet. On Saturdays, she paints her nails, but she's always wearing gloves.

Laetitia doesn't like looking like a little porcelain China doll, but James likes it, and James gets what he wants. That particular rule was instilled in us when we were young, very young. I was six; Laetitia was only four. He assaulted us with his harsh words and harsher belt- both have left scars.

If I think Laetitia looks like a porcelain doll, I cannot begin to imagine what she thinks of me. I have become a monster over the years; never to Laetitia or James or Sebastian (the latter two whose company I cower in), but to society, I am a monster, just as bad as James. It is not my fault that he kept hurting Laetitia until I eventually gave in. She always pleaded with me not to, but I saw her gently scrubbing her wounds out while attempting not to cry and knew what was right, even if Mycroft would not have approved. Mummy and Daddy- real Daddy, not James, not an impostor- would have told me that you always have to protect family, so I had no qualms about choosing Laetitia's relative safety over my own wants and wishes.

In reality, my decision did very little to protect her, but believing that she's just a fraction safer is the only way I can sleep at night, when I see a list of names run through my head. The list of names of those whose deaths and torturing I've ordered over two years. The list is impossibly long; I cannot have hurt that many people in a small percentage of my lifetime.

James believes I like the work. He thinks that because I have grown accustomed to the way bile rises in my throat whenever I see a tortured body or because I no longer object to being taken to meetings, that I like his line of work and will willingly be the heir to his throne of destruction, chaos, and mayhem. I despise this job with every fiber of my being; it tears apart at my conscience, and if I commit petty theft, I can't even remember that taking some ordinary person's wallet is wrong. Laetitia still remembers right from wrong. At least one of us turned out okay.

I use 'okay' as differently from its definition as the night sky is from day. 'Okay' is when I'm bloody and bruised because I failed and James wants to make sure I know that, but his focus isn't on Laetitia. 'Okay' is when hunger stabs at my stomach but Laetitia is still being fed enough. 'Okay' is when I sleep on the floor so Laetitia can have the couch. 'Okay' depends on Laetitia and her well-being. My own pain, sorrow, hunger, and discomfort can be drowned out. Unimportant in comparison to other problems. What does it matter if my back is a little sore from sleeping on an air mattress that I swear Sebastian poked a hole in on purpose, if Laetitia is in James' bedroom, crying and begging for him to stop? The answer is that it doesn't- it never matters.

I always take care of Laetitia's needs and wants first. She insists on at least attempting to mother me, but I won't allow it. She's the more broken of the two of us, and there's no one else to put together the pieces of her life. Certainly not James, who caused the cracks, and the idea of Sebastian, who kept tapping at the cracks already formed until she broke, fixing her is actually laughable.

I've become a great actor. I've learned how to act invincible at business meetings, and strong for Laetitia, and uncaring when a belt hits my back. I've learned how to play so many different roles, and I can be so many at once. Caring older brother/ super villain at business meetings if Laetitia calls me crying; son begging for mercy from his 'Daddy'/ desperate teenager who just wants to die already when James beats me.

I've thought about committing before. I could. It would be so simple. Sneak out on the balcony in the midst of the night and dive gracefully over the railing. Lock myself in the bathroom and swallow all of James' pills. Shoot myself during a business meeting. Hang myself with a belt from the ceiling. I've come close to doing it once, but then I imagined Laetitia's face. She would most certainly be the one to find me. She's the only one who would care enough to look for where I am. I just imagined Laetitia's face as she found her brother's broken body on the sidewalk; a body limp on the cold tiling of a bathroom; nearly bumping her forehead into her brother's body that hangs from the ceiling fan. Or even worse, James delivering the news emotionlessly after coming home, and then expecting her to still climb in bed with him that night. I can't do that to Laetitia, so I bear with it.

I think Sebastian is waiting to see which of us will break first, whether it will be me or Laetitia. Does he not see how broken we both are? I handle it well only in front of my sister, but I am otherwise a wreck. Tish, no offense to her, cannot cope with her broken-ness and cries herself to sleep every night, leaving streaks in her makeup, streaks of black on a white backdrop.

Black and white are familiar colors to each of us, in our own way. To me, it reminds me of the suits I have to wear. They're tailored just for me and made expensively, but I hate them. They fit me well, true, and Laetitia always says softly that I look handsome in them, but I hate them. They make me look like James, which is the worst insult that can be given to a person. For Laetitia, it reminds her of the way James judges her. He is so harsh when judging her body, and there are no grey areas in beauty for him. He sees her as either ugly or beautiful, or sometimes neither. The nights he sees her as neither are the nights she is spared from his hands grabbing all over her, his mouth kissing every inch of her. The nights he sees her as neither are the nights I believe in a god.

Sebastian and James seemed so kind when they first began to visit us. I was so stupid. So foolish. I let Laetitia down and I still curse myself for it on a daily basis. I should have said something, but then again, who listens to some stupid kid? The staff all wanted me out of there- I do have to admit, I was a rebellious, pretentious child, and that made it hard for them to deal with me. They probably wouldn't have listened anyways, but there are night that 'what-ifs' just keep tugging at my brain like Sebastian at my curls when I don't move quick enough. What if I hadn't been an idiot and remembered to turn off my Bunsen burner? What if Tish and I never met James and Sebastian? What if we'd run away years ago and escaped them (and this terrible future, where I am a crime lord and Letitia a glorified doll)?

But what-if have never helped anyone out of a situation. I plan every night a new way to get us out of here, but they've become more desperate and implausible over the years.

I sit on my tiny little cot in my tiny little room with the large chains connecting my ankles to the wall. The chain that keeps my wrists together makes a soft scraping noise every time it brushes the paper. I finally sigh and look up at the blonde who's been staring at me for the past ten minutes as I've attempted to get the blueprints done for James just as he wanted.

"Are these chains really necessary, sir?" The 'sir' is mocking, because children (even though I'm legally an adult and should be allowed to leave if I please- I have to stay for Tish) aren't supposed to call their parents 'sir'. They're supposed to call them Mummy and Daddy and Papa. Sebastian was supposed to be Papa when Laetitia and I moved in; then again, life was supposed to turn out better than this. He nods his head toward the paper.

"Get the blueprints done, Sherlock."

"I'm trying, but the chain is rather stifling."

"Watch your tone. Or, better yet, just shut up."

"Sorry," I mutter out of habit. I'm used to begging for mercy, used to being curled up on the floor and speaking in a cracking and broken voice, asking to please be forgiven. The corner of his mouth twitches skyward; he knows what I'm thinking of. I keep my focus on the sketchbook and ignore both Sebastian's intense gaze and the way the chain bumps my wrist every time I move.

"Your sister's with Jim right now," he grunts.

"My sister also has a name."

"Respect, Sherlock, is an important characteristic for young boys to have."

"My sister also has a name, _sir_." He ignores my stubbornness.

"They're up in his bedroom."

"When aren't they up in his bedroom, _sir_?"

"What's got you all bothered today, hm? We fed you, and you've got your own room like you've been asking for. Be appreciative, Sherlock."

"I want you to stop hurting Laetitia," I spit. "She's not strong enough to go through what you put her through. She's breaking."

"She's broken," he corrects with an invidious smile. It sends anger rippling through my chest. "She's a broken little doll, Sherlock, and she looks so beautiful with tears pouring down her face." I say nothing and sketch the plans, wishing I had the power to take Laetitia and run. I don't have that power. I am helpless.


	2. Bronchitis

Laetitia has been getting weaker by the day. It started out with just being a bit cold in the evenings with a slight cough, but now, it's gotten worse. She's dizzy, and her head is always hurting her, and she coughs no matter how many cough drops James gives her, and just yesterday I found her asleep on the floor when she'd been cutting up vegetables for dinner. She'd just collapsed right there on the floor. Cut up her hand a bit- she was still holding the large butcher knife. She's burning up; probably a serious fever. She wheezes a lot and she's lost her voice.

James tells me to fix it, but I can't, not without the antibiotics she needs. Bronchitis, it looks like, and a nasty case of it. And yet, James still insists on taking her up to his bedroom nearly every night. She comes downstairs with bruises on her face from where he hits her for nodding off and all I can do is hold her tight and hope it goes away quickly. It usually takes around a week, but that's with treatment, and despite Sebastian's beliefs, shoving cough drops down Laetitia's throat is not a suitable treatment.

She wakes up in the middle of the night, her body shaking as she coughs, and tears in her eyes because it jostles her aching head. She cries out for Mycroft, and I think she might be delirious, because Mycroft died when she was four. She's barely got any memories of him, but she still calls out for our dead older brother, somehow knowing that he used to have a knack for dealing with us when we were sick even though she'd been ill exactly once before his death.

It's difficult to calm her, with the way she's so insistent that only Mycroft can heal her. She just repeats over and over again in varying states of pathetic-ness that she "Needs Mikey to make it all better". I hold her tight, not even caring that bronchitis is contagious, and sing to her until she falls back asleep. I'll probably end up sick by next week, but I can hide it better than her. As long as I can still do the work, James won't care, and Sebastian hates me anyways, so it doesn't matter if I end up sick; but when Laetitia is ill, her coughs interrupt Sebastian's sleep and her fatigue interrupts James when he forces her to lay still as he does whatever he likes with her body. Laetitia is the unlucky one.

I think about this as I lay on the cot across from her, her coughing steadily growing louder. I stand up and walk as close to her as I can get, the chain dragging behind me and reminding me of the life I'm tethered to. James always did love symbolisms.

"Tish," I coo softly. She sits up and reaches her arms out for me and I shake my head. "I can't, the chain isn't long enough." And she can't come to me, either, because one of her hands is handcuffed to the cot, with only six inches available for her to move it. It's terribly frustrating, how we're in the same room and only two feet apart, but we can't reach each other so I can comfort Tish. He designed it like this on purpose, I swear he did. She coughs again, and it's like thunder on a silent night- loud and impossible not to hear. The door is angrily thrown open and I look up to see which of our 'guardians' has come to scold her. Sebastian, and I've never been so glad to see him in all of my life. He has never physically hurt Laetitia before. He has yelled at her plenty of times and called her things like 'whore' and 'slut', but he has never struck her before and he hopefully won't start now.

"Stop coughing," he instructs. She tries, clamping her mouth shut, but her body shakes with the effort and she's soon opened her mouth and begins coughing once more. I close my eyes and pray James won't come. "Did you hear me, you stupid little bitch? I said stop coughing."

"Sir, she _can't,_ " I cut in. "She's got bronchitis-"

"Was I talking to you, Sherlock?"

"No, sir, but-"

"Then stay quiet." Sebastian has struck me before, and I know he will have no qualms about doing it again, so I close my mouth. He looks over at Tish again and I want nothing more than to take her place, to be the one coughing rather than standing by and watching helplessly. "You dumb whore, shut up," he growls at her. She cowers away but she can't stop, and I need to make Sebastian understand that somehow so that he will not get James and Laetitia will not get hurt. My breathing is quick and uneven.

"She- She can't stop, sir, if she tries to hold it in, it'll only make it worse, please, you have to understand-" He backhands me hard across my face and I stagger backward, falling on my cot. That'll leave a nasty bruise, and James is forcing me to attend yet another business meeting tomorrow. He won't be pleased- not with Sebastian, of course, just with me for doing something 'wrong' that caused this.

Speaking of James, he's rapidly walking toward Laetitia, bare feet slapping the concrete as he walks. I try to step in front of him and he pushes me out of the way.

"Please, she can't help it, she can't," I plead, my voice becoming high-pitched and hysterical.

"Sherlock," James says in a voice of forced calm. It's one of his most dangerous voices, because it means he's just barely keeping his anger under control. "Shut up and stop whining." I squeeze my eyes closed as he walks toward poor little Laetitia. I see him yank her backward by her hair, which causes her to cough violently in his face. He slaps her and the sound echoes; he will make her cover the bruises with makeup tomorrow, unable to look at the signs of his abuse toward us. I need to get her out of this situation, somehow, and it needs to be quickly, because the percentages of the danger she's in rise rapidly as his eyes become more vicious. But how, how, how, how is the real question, and possibly Laetitia's life depends on it, if James decides she's not worth the trouble and just slits her pale throat. He could easily do it right now, and she's in the perfect position for it. One quick cut in a moment of anger and the rest of my family would be dead. I cannot allow that to happen.

"Can I please try to calm her down," I beg. "Please. I-I might be able to help her." James debates it and then motions for Sebastian to unlock the chain on my ankle. As soon as the heavy metal is no longer dragging me down, I sit next to Tish and cradle her in my arms. "Tish," I say softly. "Please, you need to stop it. Please." She tries, but her breathing becomes ragged and she moans. Her throat must hurt her pretty badly, but there's nothing I can do about that; I'm sure that if she were to ask for water, the answer would be no.

"Good boy, Sherlock. Set her down, now," James tells me. I reluctantly lay my frangible sister down, kiss her forehead, and move back to my cot. Sebastian locks the chain around my ankle again. I let him, only because of the look still in James' eyes as he strokes Tish's hair. He speaks to me but doesn't look up from her blond locks. She got mum's hair.

"Get some sleep, Sherlock, because there will be consequences if you embarrass me tomorrow. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." The two leave our room and shut the door. I know I will not be able to sleep, not with the memory of Tish's face contorted in pain and fear still fresh in my mind.

-

And here we see protective older brother Sherlock. Please leave a review, if you have any suggestions on how I can improve it or if you just liked it, or really even if you absolutely hated it. All reviews are welcome.


	3. Just Business

The suit is crisp and clean and my eyes is swollen from last night. James is angry- he says my swollen eye will make me look weak. I know that no one will question me, though, not when I'm with him. They never do, and I've been going to these meetings since I was twelve. The last person who questioned James about me ended up dead in the bottom of a lake, and it wasn't because James didn't want someone thinking they were allowed to treat me as inferior; it was because James didn't want people questioning his authority over the network.

He slaps me when I walk out of the bathroom. The hit has me cowering away from him.

"Go do something with your hair."

"I did do something with my hair."

"You _brushed_ your hair."

"I can't help that it's curly."

"Go put some gel in it or something, you're not going to a meeting looking like that. And get your sister when you're done, she's coming as well." I nod and go back in the bathroom, slicking my hair back with his gel. I wish Laetitia didn't have to come as well; he'll make her sit on his lap the whole time, and she'll have to mask her sheer terror at his fingers rubbing her scalp and her brother making plans to kill people. I always try to keep the casualties down, but to protect Tish, I still have to order the occasional death of someone. I examine my hair in the mirror. It's not slicked back, but it looks straighter, more tamed. Close enough, and we have to leave soon.

James tosses me they key to the lock on Tish's chain, which I catch easily. When I find her, she sits on the chair in front of her vanity, just now unplugging her curling iron. I crouch by her ankle and take the chain off, rubbing the red skin gently.

"You know you're coming, then?" She nods, not meeting my eyes. I know she's afraid, and she's got every right to be, going off of past experiences. I kiss the top of her head. "I'll be there. Right next to you, the whole time."

"It scares me, Lock," she whispers. "The way you talk when you're there. You sound like you know what you're doing-"

"He's been teaching m this stuff since I was six, Tish."

"-And you sound like you _like_ it."

"You know I hate it. But he hurts you if I make him look weak, and I make him look weak if I look weak, so I've got to protect my baby sister."

"I'm sixteen," she says indignantly. "Just because Daddy makes me dress like I'm eight doesn't make me an eight year old, Lock." I hate the way she calls him 'Daddy', but she's got just as much control over that as I do over my profession.

"You act like you're eight sometimes," I tease, pulling at one of her curls. It bounces back into place and she rolls her eyes as she draws pink circles on her cheeks with blush.

"Did you steal the key, or did he give it to you this time?"

"He gave it to me."

"Good. Don't want big brother getting hurt." Her voice is still raspy and I see her fighting to stay awake as she puts bright red lipstick on only the middle of her lips. I rub circles on her back.

"Don't you worry about me, Tish. Do you feel any better from last night?" She shrugs.

"A bit. I've stopped coughing, thank God. C'mere." She pats the seat of the bench and I sit next to her. "Close your eyes." I do and she spreads something cold and liquid across my bruised cheek, something I can't identify. She pats my cheek gently after several minutes. "All done, big brother." I open my eyes and look into her mirror, shocked. I tilt my head at different angles.

"How'd you do that?" She's covered the large bruise on my face and disguised the puffiness left by it. The bags under my eyes are gone, too.

"Just some basic concealer techniques." I kiss her forehead and help her up.

"Thank you."

"No problem, Lock. You look great in your fancy-pants suit. But I swear to God that I will slit your throat if you say anything about my clothes."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Come on, James is waiting." While I don't comment on her attire, it makes me angry at James. Her dress is white and frilly. She wears white stockings underneath that, gloves on her dainty hands, and a bonnet over her blond curls. What James does to her is disgusting, but it makes it even worse that I have to watch her go through it without being able to protect her. He waits for us in the hallway and I let go of Tish. He doesn't like when I show any affection for her because he wants to make her entirely dependent on him. He leads us silently to his car, but the peace is false. It won't last for long.

"What's the meeting for," I dare to ask. He doesn't stop running his fingers through Tish's carefully done hair.

"To discuss the Russian plan."

"I thought that deal was already settled."

"They've opened it again. Requesting for a change in payment."

"How much?"

"Thirty million." This business talk is making Laetitia upset, I can see it, but I can't go into this blindly. "You're persuasive enough to not have anyone come out of this dead, right? Because the Russians are one of our biggest clients."

"Of course." Of course I will make sure none of them die, or else Tish will die or get hurt, both of which are unacceptable.

"Don't fuck this up, Sherlock," he warns. I nod quickly.

"I won't."

"I'm being serious. There's thirty million on the line here, and quite possibly my reputation."

"I'll do just what you say."

"Good boy. The price is non-negotiable."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Just the normal rules." He pats my head and then talks to Tish in a soft voice, cooing and fussing over her. Tish is a wonderful actress. She leans into him and calls him Daddy in just the right voice that puts him in a good mood as she fiddles with his tie, and Tish disguises the disgust and terror in her eyes as she curls up in his lap. Tish is a great actress, and either James believes her act or just really wants to.

The room is large, plain, and boring. James sits at the head of the table with Tish in his lap and I sit next to him, squeezing her hand once before the meeting starts. It's all a blur of persuasive, bargaining words, and we walk out with the price the same and James pleased. It's good when he's happy; he won't hurt Laetitia then. He even lets her walk by herself.

And there must be some sort of higher power, somewhere in the world, because there's a window where James is distracted from us and I've got a tight grip on Laetitia's hand and the alley is only a few feet away and I happen to know this area very well. I lean down and breathe the words into her ear.

"He's not looking. Slowly step backward, and if he turns around, you turn and you _run,_ Tish, you run down the alley and you _don't. Look. Back_. Not even if I don't make it. Understand?" She nods, her breathing quick and her curls bouncing. She knows what will probably happen, that she will probably get away at the price of my life, but I'd rather die and have her safe somewhere in the world away from James than be safe myself and have her hurt. We slowly step backward together as he types out his text. All of a sudden, he slides his phone shut with a snap and turns to face us. I waste no time in turning and taking Tish with me as I sprint down the alley. I've got to keep her safe, got to keep Tish safe, got to protect my baby sister.

Laetitia is not a particularly fast runner, probably because her legs are shorter than mine and the malnourishment she's dealt with since the ripe age of four. I sling her over my shoulder and continue running, just running as fast as I can, taking all of the shortcuts I know. I run, and speed from adrenaline and possibly the higher power that I'll need more proof of first propel me forward and give me enough stamina to run for two hours.

We're only twelve miles away, but James doesn't know where we are and probably doesn't think I'll have run this far. I drop Tish gracefully on her feet on the sidewalk and then look around. We're about a twenty minute drive from Baker Street. I know the landlady there. She might let us hide out, she owes me a favor. I'm panting, but it doesn't matter, and Tish hugs me tight.

"We're away from him," she breathes in disbelief. "I can't believe this, Lock, we made it."

"We're not safe yet," I remind as I kiss her forehead. "And we're fairly recognizable. Let's find a bathroom somewhere, get changed, and take a cab. I've got some money on me. It's not a lot, but it's enough for a change of clothes and a cab ride."

"Where to?"

"Remember Marie Hudson?"

"No," she says slowly with a frown.

"Perhaps you weren't there for that meeting. She wanted her husband killed. She was a nice old lady, husband abused her. I did it for free. James was livid. Anyway, she owes me a favor and owns a few buildings. She might let us hide out in one for a few days."

"Where at?"

"Baker Street." She nods, determination in her eyes, and takes my hand.

"Baker Street it is, then."

Please read and review, and remember- all cristicisms are welcome!


	4. How Consulting Detectives Come To Be

Not being in a suit feels strange, as I've worn them most of my life. I keep having to remind myself that the young woman next to me is indeed Laetitia, as she looks different with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, her face rid of makeup, and her body adorned in jeans and a t-shirt rather than a dress that makes her look half her age. The change is welcome, however, and I grip her hand tightly as we board the bus. After buying the clothes, we decided on public transport with many people rather than just ourselves and a mysterious cab driver, whose identity could be one of James' employees. We sit in the middle and I spend the whole time glancing over my shoulder.

"You look different," she comments softly with her head on my shoulder. "Without a suit."

"You look different without all that ridiculous makeup."

"Feels weird."

"I know. But good, too, to be away from him."

"Definitely. I keep thinking he's right behind us, just playing another one of his cruel jokes and letting us think we're safe."

"We're safe from him, Tish. I promise." I cannot ensure her safety from that man, but it's what she needs to hear so I say it anyways.

"Do you believe in God, Lock?"

"I don't know."

"I believe in God. He's why we escaped. He's been watching over us, all these years." She's got a soft smile on her face and so I don't point out that her God also let us get hurt. Let Tish believe what she wants.

I shake her awake when we make it to the stop and then climb off with her in front of me. I'm not willing to let her out of my sight. Not after everything that's happened.

"What house number is it," she asks as we look.

"221. It should be around here…" I stop as I find it and then knock quickly.

"Just a moment," Mrs. Hudson calls. When she opens the door and sees me, she's a little bit shocked, I can tell. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, lovely to see you again." She's being genuine. I glance behind me, not loosening my grip on Tish.

"Lovely to see you, too, Mrs. Hudson. And please, it's just Sherlock."

"Something the matter, dear?"

"I was wondering if I could possibly hide out in your basement for just a day or two, Laetitia and I?"

"Well of course, dear, but is something the matter?"

"N-Nothing." The word comes out stuttered and I grip Tish's hand tighter as a black car starts to roll down the street. "And, um, is it possible that we could perhaps get indoors before we finish this conversation?" She ushers us in and I feel relief watch over me. I let out a laugh of relief and kiss Tish on the forehead. She sobs and hugs me tight.

"We're safe," she says once again, and this time I don't say anything else. Let her believe it, but we're far from safe. He's got eyes everywhere. Tish doesn't know the full extent of his network, but I do.

"Safe," I repeat. After explaining things to Mrs. Hudson, who I trust greatly, she agrees to let us stay for a bit, but then insists that we take her upstairs room and not just hide in the basement for several days. Her kindness is something I wasn't expecting and I am reluctant to accept her offer. She's got to rent these flats out; she can't have two teenagers taking up one of them. But she insists, and I don't plan on staying for long without paying rent.

Our parents left a sizable fortune for Laetitia and I, which I now have total control over because I'm no longer a minor. It's on the list of things I've got to take care of, but number one is getting off of James' radar, a nearly impossible task. We've got to lay low for a bit, but I think things will be okay.

"Tish, I've got to tell you something," I say as we sit across from each other at the kitchen table. She looks up from her book.

"What is it, Lock?"

"James' network," I start slowly, gauging her reaction to his name. She flinches at it. "Is more vast than you think. It spans around the world, and it's been built so carefully that the removal of it from some societies can cause total war and destruction. Even here in Britain. It's got to be slowly taken down. However, that's not my point."

"What _is_ your point?"

"The vastness of it. All. Over. You can go anywhere in the world and bet that James has at last twenty people in that city working for him."

"So… So we're not safe?"

"I'm not saying that we're not safe. I'm just saying that we have to exercise precautions. Don't talk to strangers, don't trust anyone, don't walk down alleys by yourself, don't be out after dark… I know this seems a bit ridiculous, Tish, but he's everywhere, and I don't want you getting hurt again."

"Everywhere," she whispers, eyes wide and turning tearful. I quickly brush her tears away with my thumb.

"Don't cry. You'll be safe. I promise."

"How can you promise that," she asks. "You can't. We're not safe from him, not now and not ever."

"Calm down. I _have_ a plan."

"What is it?"

"I'll become a detective and slowly bring down his network, one person at a time. Scotland Yard doesn't even know he exists, and the government knows how big of a role his network plays. None of them are willing to bring it down, but I am. And you can help me."

"I'd like that. I want to bring him down and I want to take away his power, and I think I want him dead." I smile at her.

"Good."

-

The story will be following canon from here, probably, but with a few twists along the way to keep it interesting (if this has even been interesting in the first place).


	5. Sebastian's Return

The ebony car has been following us for two blocks now and I refuse to go anywhere near Baker Street as long as it's tailing us. Tish grows wary of it, but I do not blame her. I've been dragging her in circles and she must think I've lost it or James has found us, both of which are probable.

"This isn't the way back to Baker Street and we've passed that bank twice now, so I want the truth: did he find us," she breathes.

"I'm not sure, but that car has been following us for ten minutes now, so someone has found us."

"Plan?"

"Not sure." She's the only person I will ever admit to that I don't know something, which is something I've done a lot in the past two weeks. "Just keep walking."

"I can't go back there, Lock. Please."

"I'm going to keep you safe, Tish, no matter what." No matter if I have to sacrifice myself, the unspoken words that are left hanging in the air, creating tension.

"I've just remembered what it feels like to wear jeans," she says with a smile, bumping me. The words are meant as a joke, but they remind me of all that she's gone through. She's just recovering from years of her body not belonging to herself, her head being constantly confused, her heart constantly aching and yearning to leave him. Two weeks of freedom has made her only more determined to not have to go back.

"Alright," I breathe. "Plan."

"What is it," she asks, suddenly solemn.

"Get ourselves lost in the crowd, you go directly back to Baker Street, and I'll meet you there."

"I'm not leaving you, Lock-"

"You're not leaving me, Tish, you're getting yourself to safety. Go, now."

"Not without you, Lock, I'm not going. You'll get yourself caught."

"I'll be fine, you have to trust me, just go," I say, words speeding rapidly as the car comes closer to us. "I promise that I will meet you back there, Tish, please just go."

"No!" The car stops next to us and the driver rolls down the window. I put Tish behind me and spread my arms protectively in front of her. Sebastian Moran glares up at me.

"You've got two choices," he grunts. "You get in the car like a good little boy, or I come out there and drug both of you. What'll it be?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," Tish chants behind me. I swallow.

"I'll come willingly if you leave Laetitia alone," I say while trying to keep the wobble out of my voice.

"Wasn't one of the choices. Get in the car before I get you myself."

"Tish, go," I hiss at her. She steps in front of me, and I have never seen her act so brave in front of Sebastian.

"Sir," she says evenly. "I've got a better offer."

"And what's that, slut?" She shakes off the insult.

"I will come and do whatever you want. I promise that I will not resist anything. I'll be a perfect little girl for Daddy. But you've got to leave Sherlock here and never bother him again." He raises an eyebrow, but I don't notice his reaction all that much.

"I am not letting you sacrifice yourself, Laetitia," I tell her. "I will not let you go back there. Go. _Now_."

"You two realize that you're both coming back with me, correct? And Sherlock's going to be the perfect little businessman and Laetitia is going to be the perfect little slut."

"Don't call her a slut," I growl at him. He sighs and opens the door, holding two large needles that glint in the sunlight as he steps out.

"I gave you your chance to come. Bargaining will not work. I thought you both would've known that. Hold still." He yanks my wrist and I am unable to get away as he injects me with the sedative. I fight it long enough to see him push Tish against the car with a wicked smile on his face.

"I'm gonna have fun with you," he says before slipping the needle in her arm. I pass out on the cement and can only hope that, by some miracle, Tish and I will not wake up back at the Moriarty mansion.

It pains me to write Sebastian like this. I'm used to writing him as a big ball of fluffiness who just happens to be a sniper and Moriarty's right-hand man, but as the villain... This is new for me. How am I doing? Leave a review, please!


	6. Brothers Are Unhelpful Creatures

When I wake up, the first thing I'm wondering is which warehouse I've been brought to. The second thing I'm wondering about is the lack of restraints. The third thing I'm wondering about is why this isn't one of James' places.

"Ah. So you've finally awaken, brother mine." The voice is a sneer and my mind is too hazy to fully register the man's face, but I can focus enough to have an idea begin to form in my head. I dismiss it quickly, however, when I don't see Laetitia anywhere in the room.

"Where is she?!"

"Calm down, Sherlock-"

"Tish! Where the hell is she?"

"Calm. Down. She's safe."

 _"Where the hell is my sister?"_

"She's in the next room over, receiving the medical attention she desperately needs."

"She has a fear of doctors. They remind her of James. And how the hell are you still alive, Mycroft? Are you even alive? Am I hallucinating?"

"I'm alive. I've been alive, actually. I was never in that house when it burned down, Sherlock."

"So you've been alive all this time."

"Correct."

"So… You've been _alive_ for the past twelve years."

"Yes."

"And where the hell were you?! Certainly not saving your brother or sister, that's for sure."

"Sherlock, you must understand. I simply could not-"

"You didn't get your fat arse up to do it. Do you know what happened while we were there?"

"I am aware that Moriarty subjected you to some abuse and malnourishment-"

" _Some_? He turned Laetitia into a little porcelain doll that he would _rape_ on a daily basis. He beat the shit out of both of us if I messed something up. He would starve us for a whole week and then give us a single piece of bread. You haven't the faintest idea what's been happening to us while you were neglecting us."

"Sherlock-"

"Where the hell is Tish?"

"In the next room over. Let her be-" I hear her shrill scream and am instantly running to her. They've got a needle. I purse my lips and hug Tish tightly. Her cheeks are wet with tears.

"She's got a fear of needles, you imbeciles. For the past twelve years, she's been injected with a sedative before she was raped. Get out of here." They exchange a glance but don't leave. I clench my jaw, my lip twitching in anger. "I can slaughter all of you in the blink of an eye, I swear to God, you get the _hell_ out of here and you leave my sister alone." They leave and Tish whimpers.

"Y-You sound like h-him."

"I know. I only had to so they would leave. No one's allowed to hurt you. Come on. We're going home."

"H-How come S-Sebastian took us, but we're at M-Mycroft's warehouse?"

"Not sure. He must've intercepted the car."

"I'm mad at him."

"I am, too."

"He knew what was happening and he didn't save us."

"I know." I help her off the table and lead her outside, ignoring Mycroft entirely. He most certainly wasn't part of our life before, and he definitely doesn't get to be a part of it now.


End file.
